


You keep running away like it was an answer

by Winga



Series: (Kinda) prompted [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And it is just quite fluffy, And it was written before Christmas, It's a bit of a christmassy fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:46:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winga/pseuds/Winga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something Sherlock hadn't told yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You keep running away like it was an answer

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally written for Sherlock Secret Santa on tumblr. A bit late for a christmassy story, but anyway.

He thought he could avoid answering for the time being. Thought that John would forget about it all in a moment. Wouldn’t need to know what he was saying. What he meant.

”So.”

He looked into John’s eyes and turned to walk away. John’s hand grabbed at his arm before he could take a step.

“You’re not going anyway. I’m serious. And I need to know were you being serious, too, because —” John stopped himself and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. Then he looked Sherlock in the eyes. “Were you?”

Sherlock glared at John who hesitantly let go of his arm. “Yes,” he said and, leaving baffled John staring after him, he walked swiftly out, grabbing his jacket before leaving the house.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” John muttered and ran after him.

**

When John returned back at the flat a few hours later (cold, shivering and covered with snow), he was cursing under his breath and thinking he should have known that if Sherlock ran away and didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. Couldn’t be. Well, maybe Mycroft might.

Anyway, he felt cold and decided a hot shower and then a cup of tea might be the cure. And probably Sherlock might appear so he might finally talk some sense into the man’s head. Or at least he could talk, even if Sherlock wouldn’t listen. At least he would have tried.

Sighing, he went to bathroom and locked the door, undressed and stepped under the shower. His eyes were closed and he tried to not think about Sherlock for a moment – which was made harder a few minutes later when the man in question picked the lock and walked in.

“Sherlock, what the hell?” John asked, hiding behind the shower curtain. “The door was locked – you knew—”

“Why did you run after me?” the man, in his jacket and still completely covered with snow, asked.

“Look, I was going to talk about that with you when I had showered. So – could you just leave and let me finish and _then_ talk with me, yes?” John pleaded, the water still running down his body. “Please?”

Sherlock seemed to hesitate for a while but then he shook his head. “No. I _need_ to know.”

“You can wait for a moment. Change into something warm, make tea, wait until I get dressed. Yeah?” John said, begging with his eyes. Sometimes he wished Sherlock would not be so blind towards social cues.

Instead of leaving the room, as John had hoped, Sherlock took his jacket off and started stripping.

“Sherlock? What – _what_ are you doing?”

“Getting rid of my drenched clothes to avoid getting ill,” Sherlock answered, nonchalantly.

“That means only your jacket and such, right?” John asked, fearing Sherlock’s answer.

“Well. That depends. Are you going to answer me?”

John sighed. He closed his eyes and decided that answering would at least save him from a cold shower. Which in turn made him turn the water off, because the following talk might take a moment.

“I was going to say, before you ran away, that in fact, I feel the same way, but I was surprised that you could really mean it. Anyway, yes, I’d like to try it, just please tell me it’s not going to drive you away more often than before. I – I don’t want to freak you out – hey. What are you doing?”

Sherlock had kept undressing and was now wearing only his underwear. “Oh, getting rid of the wet clothes. And isn’t a hot shower a good way to warm oneself up?”

“Sherlock! We just – we haven’t even talked about – no, you’re not going to—” John’s words were silenced by Sherlock’s mouth and the water was turned on.

When Sherlock drew back, he had a devilish grin on his face. “I’m kind of glad I did go out,” Sherlock whispered into John’s ear and took the bar of soap from John, who hadn’t even realised he had been holding it all the time. “Now. Let’s get you clean.”

John was still wondering how they’d ended up in here. “I’m still – you were so conscious of everything – what changed?” He was kind of protesting when Sherlock started soaping him up but really, it was such a turn-on. “Also, could you not do that when I’m trying to talk to you?”

Still grinning, Sherlock faced John and lifted the other hand to put his finger on John’s lower lip. “There was a talk. There was snow. And you running after me.” He moved the finger slowly and John gasped, feeling like he was drowning in feelings. “And no. I won’t stop.”

As was his habit, John licked his lips, trying to calm himself, but found it rather more distracting what with his tongue meeting Sherlock’s finger. He shook his head and took a step backwards.

“I hope to god this isn’t some kind of experiment,” he growled at Sherlock who looked hurt at the accusation. “Because if it is, I will leave. After I have broken your heart.”

“It is not. It isn’t.” He then got the grin back. “I am quite sure Mycroft will have a similar speech with you in a few days.”

John groaned. “What have I gotten myself into?” he mumbled before Sherlock closed the distance again, washing his back at the same moment.

“Holmes’ family, that’s what,” Sherlock said into his mouth and then pulled back. “It’s getting awfully cold.”

John rolled his eyes. “Yes well. I wasn’t going to spend so long here. We should probably get out of here and like, to the living room, with a nice cuppa.”

“And continue this?”

John groaned. “Actually. We might talk a bit.”

Sherlock grumbled but accepted his fate since John’s face was saying _‘or else this will be nothing’_.

They got out of the shower, grabbing towels. “Now, go to your room for some clothes and we’ll meet in the living room,” John said trying to leave the room but not managing until Sherlock had gotten one more kiss.

It took only some twenty minutes before both of the men were seated on the sofa, John sipping at his tea, Sherlock watching in front of him, seemingly bored.

“So. There was a talk?”

Sherlock groaned. “Well. Mycroft sent Anthea.”

John couldn’t help but laugh. “Let me see. Anthea was tapping away on her Blueberry and telling you that I feel the same way – because there’s no way Mycroft had missed it even if you had – and that it was idiotic to run. And by the way, did you know he was running after you?” he spoke, imitating Anthea at the end.

Shrugging Sherlock looked the other way and muttered something like: “That’s about it.”

“And suddenly you were full of self-confidence, which explains the shower – so, how are you now so calm?” That made Sherlock turn around to let John see the desire burning behind his eyes. John’s eyes widened and he put the tea mug on the table. “Oh. Well then. Should we continue where we left? Or take it to the bedroom?”

Sherlock attacked John’s mouth, devouring it with all he was worth.

They ended up in Sherlock’s room.

**

It’s a week later. John’s sitting next to Sherlock on the sofa, drinking his tea. “I was thinking,” he says, “we should probably give your brother a cake for Christmas. And Anthea, too.”

Sherlock looks puzzled. “Why?”

“If it weren’t for their meddling, would you even have done anything or even listened to me for a long time?”

He wants to object but he can’t. “You’re right. The biggest chocolate cake there is.”

“Mm. Now you should kiss me.”

Without responding verbally, Sherlock does.


End file.
